


Red And All Things Bloody, Just Like My Ruined Heart

by Frying_Eggz



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Deity Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Dream realizes that hes done shitty stuff but just has to live with it, George already lost 2 canon lives in this, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Long-Haired Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Minor cursing, Pain, Someone gets stabbed, Toxic Relationships, Unhealthy Relationships, george stutters when hes scared, i still dont know how to tag, its not really mentioned tho, no beta we die like george in manhunt, no sympathy for Dream here folks, surprisingly its not george tho, thats ok I do too, this is all literally just pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:22:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29439669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frying_Eggz/pseuds/Frying_Eggz
Summary: He swears he didn’t mean to.One second George was fine and the next he was on the floor, bleeding out and choking on his own blood.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	Red And All Things Bloody, Just Like My Ruined Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Guys!!!!
> 
> remember to not push a ship onto a creator, this all for funsies
> 
> enjoy! :)

The metallic scent of blood filled his lungs, hot humid air suffocating him. He panted, staring at the unmoving body on the ground. He finally did it. Somewhere to his right was another person, writhing and crying out in pain. 

Dream looked at him. Sharp green eyes bore into soft brown ones, warm and full of tears.

Tubbo whimpered.

The brunet was clutching his head, hand around the chipped dagger embedded into his skull, just short enough to stop before damaging his brain. 

Had it not been broken, it would have pierced his brain and his last life would have been taken immediately, just like his best friend’s.

Dream turned and walked back to Tommy, staring into his lifeless blue eyes, his gaze moving down to the gaping wound in his gut and knife in his heart. 

It had been a bitch to kill him, the kid fought tooth and nail.

But he finally did it. He broke out of the prison after working for months on an escape plan, and was after Tommy before he could say ‘sally the salmon’.

Just because he was once too important to kill didn’t mean it was the same now.

Tubbo slumped over against the tree supporting him, exhaustion, pain, and bloodloss getting to him.

But another brunet stood, looking over the situation in front of him with terror in his eyes.

“Dream…” The blond whipped his head toward the voice, the oh so sweet voice he hadn’t heard in so long, the voice that belonged to George, his wonderful George. As to if they were still a ‘thing’, he didn’t know. What he did know is that the british man hadn’t visited him during any of the 7 long months he had been imprisoned.

George ran.

He turned and ran as fast as he could, even faster than he thought he was capable of. He didn’t want to wind up like the two teenagers he just saw dead.

But he knew. Oh, he knew only too well.

He knew it was only a matter of time before Dream caught up to him. 

No matter how fast George could run, no matter how long he could run for, Dream would always find him. The blond was smart, too smart, had too many tricks up his sleeve waiting to be used, and even more circling around in his head, incomplete, but not for long.

His only hopes of making it out of this were to get to his house before Dream and lock all the doors and windows.

But even then he wouldn’t be safe, because when it comes to Dream, you never are.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind him, feet touching the ground with a harsh ‘thud’ every step.

_Oh no._

His foot caught on a tree root, a rock, a _something,_ and he twisted, hitting the ground hard.

The footsteps were impossibly closer.

He got up. He ran faster.

He saw his house and thanked every star in the sky that he had left his door unlocked. His legs burned, his lungs stung, and he ran with such desperation he knew nothing other than to run, to run from his psycho chaser and get as far away as possible, as fast as he could.

George reached the door, hand fumbling with the handle for a split second, but that was all the time Dream needed.

George stepped inside, breathing heavily, and moved to close the door.

But it was too late.

The blond launched himself at the brunet, lunging for him. Dream tackled the smaller to the ground, and sat on his hips, _hard._

There was no escaping this.

“I don’t want to hurt you, George,” Dream said lowly, long hair swinging in front of his eyes. He knew George didn’t believe him. He was still shaking with pure, unfiltered fear so strong he didn’t know how to explain it, eyes screwed shut, salty tears running down his face.

Dream got up to close the door, and George scrambled back, running into a large oak bookcase.

“Wha-” he took a shaky breath, cowering in the corner, “What do you want from me.”

A hint of anger lied under his voice. Dream raised an eyebrow, amused.

“No need to get angry with me darling, If I had wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now.” George figured the blond was right.

“If anything, I should be the one getting upset, after all, you did leave me to rot in that nasty place, all alone and with no company, George,” the words rolled off his tongue like honey, sickly sweet in the worst way possible, voice still hoarse from lack of use.

George hated it. He hated the way he found comfort in his voice after not hearing it for so long. He hated the way that he craved the way the blond said his name, the way he loved how the man in green called him _darling._

George hated him.

“You have hurt so many- too many people. Do- Do you even know what you’ve done? How do I really know you- you won’t hurt me?” Dream’s eyes darkened at George’s words.

“Georgie-” George cut him off. He was sick of the blond constantly trying to worm his way out of trouble, out of consequences, out of the blame, using _guilt._

“No! Are- are you even happy with- with what you’ve done now? We used to be- we used to be happy, but not anymore. I’m sick and tired of your tricks and shit, pulling me in and promising good just to- just to fuck me over!” George was angry now, as was Dream. The last few toxic months of their relationship had been taxing for George, and just when he was in his final stages of healing and acceptance, Dream just had to come crashing in, bringing all the walls he’s meticulously put back up down in one foul swoop.

“Do you even love me? Did you ever mean what you said? You said you were going to be there for me, no matter what! You- you said you were going to make sure I was always safe, and- and happy! If anything it- it’s the opposite now with the way you’ve- how you’ve been acting.” George was all but yelling now. He was pissed, and rightfully so in his eyes. 

Dream didn’t like this sudden change of character, this sudden independency. 

“You little- You know what? Maybe I never did mean it when I said I loved you! You think I actually cared about your stupid little mushroom house? I saw it as an opportunity to get rid of Tommy while keeping you wrapped around my finger.” 

Dream was angry. _Really_ angry.

George was speechless.

“You’re just a dumb little bitch meant to sit there and be pretty. You were just my little pawn. I could use you to do what I needed to while having for it- all of it, while still having a perfect cover- and it worked! No one suspected a fucking thing!” the blond yelled, a maniacal look in his eyes that made the brunet shiver.

George was crying and trying his best to keep his composure, but how could he when the man he was hopelessly in love with was telling him how he was just a toy?

“So you think I’m just a toy, huh?” he whispered. “You think I’m just some weak little trophy, who- who was supposed to s-sit there and worry about you and care for you all those- those nights you came back home all bloodied a-and bruised, even though you didn’t give t-two shits about me? How is that even fair?” George was screaming, he wanted to punch the blond. He wanted to punch him and beat him up and just _hurt_ him just like how he hurt George.

Dream yelled back, “Well guess what, Georgie, life isn’t fucking fair!” He brought his hand to his side, smashing a flower pot with his fist, and shattered ceramic found calloused flesh, cutting Dream. Golden ichor spilled out of his hand, dripping down his hand and onto the floor, the table, himself.

He didn’t even flinch.

“But this isn’t in life’s hands, Clay!” Dream stepped back, in shock and taken aback at the use of his real name. “This is all your doing, this- this is all your decisions. You could have at least told me your- your plans, maybe I would have helped you!”

“You’ve made it clear you wouldn’t,” Dream stated.

“Because you made it clear you didn’t care about me.” George was shaking with fury now, “I don’t want to have anything to do with- with you anymore Dream. I’m done, we’re over.”

Dream swears he didn’t mean to.

One second George was fine and the next he was on the floor, bleeding out and choking on his own blood.

In a fit of blind rage, he had pulled out a knife that had been left unused in his little scrabble with Tommy and Tubbo.

So now his ex-boyfriend was kneeling over, using the coffee table, the couch, anything in his reach to help keep him up as he clutched his throat.

Dark red against pretty pale skin.

George sat there, gasping for air but all he got was blood dripping down his throat, into his lungs, filling them up until he felt like he was drowning. He swallowed thickly, feeling the blood trickle down into his stomach. 

His hands grasped at his throat, clawing at the pain, the blood. 

He was feeling lightheaded, dizzy and woozy, and whether it was from the lack of blood or air in his body, he didn’t know. But he did know that it was Dream who did this to him, and even through his tears blurring his vision he could see him just standing there as if he didn’t just kill three people, like a fucking psychopath. 

That’s what Dream was; a psychopath.

He didn’t want to scream at him. He just wanted to say a few simple words before he knew he would die the last time.

He soon found out that even if he tried no noise came out other than a low gurgle.

So he stuck to thinking the same two phrases over and over and over again.

_Fuck you fuck you fuck you_

_I hate you I hate you I hate you_

And Dream just stood there.

He stood there in pure disbelief and shock because he just slit George’s throat.

And he continued to stand there and let the tears silently fall down his face even when Sapnap opened the door, frantic and panting. He just barely registered Sapnap screaming out “What the fuck did you do to him?!” until the ravenette shoved him out of the way and into the counter, trying to get to his friend. 

Sapnap screamed out for help, any help, and Bad came in, Sam soon to follow.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, George are you okay? No no no, George, stay with me George, you’re going to be okay, you’re going to be fine, it’s going to be fine. See?” Sapnap’s sobs went through Dream’s ear and out the other.

As Sapnap and Bad did their best to save their dying friend. Sam looked at him, full of absolute disbelief before walking cautiously over to him and grabbing his still bleeding hand and bound it to his other with a piece of rope, tying it round and round until Dream couldn’t move his hands.

He knew how to stop this, he knew he could have easily prevented Sam from tying his wrists, he knew he could have run out the open door, or just killed them all.

But he’s already caused so much pain, why make more?

Why _not_ make more?

If he’s already carelessly caused so much pain, why doesn’t he want to do it anymore?

Why did he do it in the first place?

What caused him to crave so much violence, power, and pain?

_No no no no no no no._

He didn’t want this.

He didn’t want whatever _this_ was anymore.

He missed his friends, he missed being happy.

He missed his friends being happy.

What happened to the days where they would go adventuring through the woods, no real destination in mind? What happened to the sleepless nights where they would talk about the dumbest shit they knew? What happened to the stupid games of chase that ended up in dogpiles and fits of giggles?

What happened to him?

He stared blankly at his hair, the once short and fluffy hair that was now long and grimy.

All he knew as Sam dragged him up from the floor and shoved him roughly out the door leaving Sapnap crying over George’s bloody body, out to where Fundy and Eret were crying with Niki over Tommy and Tubbo, was that there was no turning back.

Dream fucked up.

And this time there's no fixing it.

**Author's Note:**

> I refuse to read angst but I can crank that shit out like no tomorrow.
> 
> thanks for reading folks! :D


End file.
